


a last gift given

by armario



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: "loads of rewrites"??, M/M, Season 3 Finale, ambiguous ending, final scene, here today with this short fic, in a good way, kiss, no one has ever rewritten or even mentioned this scene before in the whole history of fanfiction, what do you mean i clearly came up with this first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:49:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armario/pseuds/armario
Summary: "Are you ready to die, Will?" Hannibal asks, after a long silence accompanied only by raindrops and the engine's constant thrum.





	

Will's life, categorised as a Before and After one man, has been surreal since the start of part two.

It's like a dream, equal parts nightmare and fantasy, blurring together for years until he can cut himself on the sharp clarity of this very moment.

He thinks he might wake up soon, perhaps he's late and his dogs are nuzzling at him waiting to be fed. Perhaps he's got a class later and a case now. Perhaps a few missed calls from Jack, a resultant banging on his door and a vague feeling of purpose.  
And there are no psychiatrists doubling up as friends, or vice versa.

Recently, everything has been getting a little more clear. He's starting to understand things; about the world, about his work, about himself, about Hannibal.

"Do you ever think," he says to the man in question, leaning his head against the window, "that we'd be better off if we'd never met?"

Hannibal doesn't look away from the road, but Will glances up to catch his authentic smile. 

"I think life would certainly be easier," comes the measured answer. "But not so beautiful."  
Will laughs. 

The rain that had been pouring earlier is now steadying to a light patter hitting the windows. It's rhythmic and calming, and Will shifts a little lower in his seat, sighing softly.

"Are you ready to die, Will?" Hannibal asks, after a long silence accompanied only by raindrops and the engine's constant thrum. 

"Do you think I'm going to?"

"We all have to die someday."

"I meant tonight."

Hannibal exhales quietly. "I think it is entirely possible, equal to the possibility of my own death."

"That reassures me."  
It was intended with a hint of sarcasm, but instead, the words manifested as pure honesty.

"If I were to die alone here, it would be a shame," Hannibal tells him. "But if I were to die with you, it would be an honor."

Will stares at him, trying and failing to gauge the statue still facial expression. And then Hannibal risks shifting his gaze briefly to the other man, and Will can read _everything-_ that could just be his empathy, or it could be that they are exactly synchronised. Hannibal must realise, for he quickly looks away.

For the first part of the journey, they had exchanged very little. Now, nearing the end, there is no need for words.

The car stops, the crash of the sea unmistakable.

"We have arrived," Hannibal murmurs. They leave the car, the rain quieting further. 

On the way up the steep hill, Will grabs Hannibal's wrist on impulse. The older man turns and watches him, making no move to release himself from Will's grip. 

Will steps closer. He looks into Hannibal's eyes, eerily dark in the moonlight, face shadowed, his own illuminated. 

"I'm ready," he says. His voice isn't loud, but the simplicity of its truth is devastating.   
Hannibal's expression is parts transfixed, as it always is with Will, and parts so fiercely proud the eye contact becomes intense.

"But not without you," Will finishes. 

The wind whips about them, ruffling hair and clothes, salt air biting at chilled flesh. Will raises his hand, tentative, settles it on Hannibal's cheek, thumbing lightly over ever-cold skin. From there, they are stock still, frozen under the moon, a tableau before the final act starts.

"I am with you," Hannibal says, breaking the spell like the waves on rocks below.

The smile they share is alight with understanding. No one could ever witness it and know the true extent of its meaning.  
  
\---

The pain of his injuries is light years away. Adrenaline pulses through him, numbing and warm. He feels both sick and giddy, they beat the Dragon, they're still together. Will stumbles over to Hannibal, clutches at him like he's drowning. 

Touching him is like touching a live wire; a full body shudder runs through him as though he's been shocked. There are shadows, and there is  _so much blood._ Hannibal's fingers find the wound, pushing in ever so slightly till the red-black liquid spills.

"This is all I ever wanted for you Will."

They're not even shaking. Will grips Hannibal like it's impossible to let go. 

"For both of us."

Will thinks back to the moment they first met, to every moment in between, then to now. His heart is beating at light speed and he laughs, elated and enlightened.

"It's beautiful."

He buries his face in Hannibal's chest, feels strong arms wrap around him. The tang of blood and salt mix thickly in the air.

Will licks his lips, leans up and presses his red-slick mouth against Hannibal's, a gift he's waited to give for so long. 

He doesn't break it off even as he pushes off the cliff. 

Maybe they hit the rocks, skulls fracturing like eggshell, emptying their complex brains into the hungry sea. Maybe their blood mingles in the heaving water, mixing till there's no determining whose is whose. Maybe they don't even separate.

Two things are for certain. If they do die, they must die at the precise same moment. For there cannot be one without the other.

Hannibal will die with Will's blood on his lips, a last gift given, an ultimate goodbye. 

A final taste shared. 


End file.
